


heaven

by Lord_Maple



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dreams, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, POV First Person, Self-Indulgent, Stream of Consciousness, Symbolism, incomplete sentences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-08 02:12:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12854529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lord_Maple/pseuds/Lord_Maple
Summary: from the orphanage to the large screens of shibuya, i understood one thing. what happiness is.(Akechi wakes up in a place that he believes is the afterlife)





	heaven

Seven years. Seven whole years ever since that woman died.   
  
I don’t know why I decided to remember this now. The scene where your life flashes in front of your eyes, moments before your death, like a silver screen much too bright, seems cliche-- unrealistic. A convenient tool to guilt-trip the audience, if not the dying man himself.   
  
And I know for sure that’s right. It’s much past that point already, for a new world has already come to view. The cold, blank slate that I stand upon. The sky, clear of everything besides a reflection of myself. It is a sign. Surely, this is what one calls the “afterlife”.    
  
Yes, the stench of smoke and iron is gone. This is no longer the engine room of a ship that floats upon the sins of authority. This is no longer the moment in which the thieves are saved at the expense of some pathetic man’s life. Now, there is no longer such a heavy climax pressing the atmosphere. Simply dead, and that should be all.   
  
But these thoughts, if I can still call it that, drift off to the memories when I was alive. When she was alive. When everyone else was alive. The ground beneath me is starting to feel like mush.   
  
It keeps coming back. The beginning. The tale that began seven years ago. At the tender age of ten and a woman in her late-twenties. Dead. Six feet under. The mysterious presence of an unused gun. Bathtub drenched. Thick red. A bloody knife. A door slightly opened. Light.   
  
Before that, there was nothing particularly noteworthy. It was just her and I in a single house with a single path.   
  
Drifting thoughts drift away. Temporary hallucinations fade away and I regain the senses to reprocess the scenery of the afterlife. The shape of the floor is no longer flat and I see it has taken the distinct shape of the littered floor during that woman’s suicide. It is no longer pale white. Darker. Colder. I conclude that this afterlife is a product of cognition. My cognition, transforming at the whim of the fickle mind. A transparent, reflective sky and the opaque, firm ground. The image of some nobody’s dream. Nothing. Unrestrained freedom.   
  
The first thing I did was to stretch. I laughed. I found my feet moving on its own, skipping along the twisted road created by the fragments of memories. The freedom to walk, the freedom to run, cry, smile, yell, dance, play-- everything so trivial that I never knew I wanted because even when they say I’m alone, that simply isn’t true. I was never alone. I was always watched by unblinking eyes. The gray blob, slowly squirming around, trickling into the cracks of the buildings like ants in a hill. The ignorant masses. They have no place here. They are not here. They can’t be.   
  
My reflection in the sky warps and the ground is forming mountains of white and I find myself deeper and higher and lower and walking and flying and and and and--   
  
Were all of my wishes here the entire time? Was it my desire to die? The absolute freedom to do what I want-- to be what I want. Liberating. If I didn’t know any better, I would consider the possibility of this being my own Palace.   
  
Wouldn’t it be great if I had one? Trigger a change of heart and it all ends there. I stopped moving. The ground settles.   
  
A distorted persona. A memory welling up in the corners of my brain-- my soul. My feet on top of a white roof. The ground changed in shape once again, I see.    
  
Shapeshifter. Trickster.   
  
The memory burst out, like a light seeping out of the cracks and what I saw was--   
  


* * *

  
_ Silence. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ The orphanage-- my new home-- is in complete silence. Even the children who are practically infants are quiet, snoring soundly into their fluffy dreams of rainbows and pillows. Bigger kids tired themselves out after the usual ruckus they caused, bringing the periodic peace that befalls this place. I sneaked around the hallway until I reached the stairs to the rooftop. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ For safety purposes, the door is locked with a heavy-looking iron chain. Hard and cold to touch, I avoided moving it too much since the noise might wake up the adults nearby. It would be troublesome to waste another day serving punishment, and a bit too painful for my taste. Being this high up was fine anyways, even though I couldn’t see the full moon from here, as there are no windows. Taking a sharp piece of stone from my pocket, shaved to a point, I struck the wall adjacent to the door. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Mother once said that there was a certain woman from the moon who came down to Earth to experience life. Despite her suffocating experiences, it is said that she grew attached to Earth, and when it came to the point where she needed to return to the Moon, there was a tearful departure, and she lost all of her memories on Earth. I don’t remember it clearly, but from what I could understand, it was supposed to be a sad story. Mother was crying, after all, even though she wiped it away rather quickly. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ I don’t really understand the appeal of this place or any reason why anyone would want to stay here. This story was made by a different person of a different time. A piece of fiction. A lie. And people pass it on for what purpose? To appreciate being human a bit more? To be thankful that right now, you are alive as you are? I don’t appreciate forced ideals. Ideals that I can’t understand. Ideals I need to understand to be appreciated. The fact that in order to survive, I need to become fiction itself... _ _   
_ _   
_ _ It’s trash. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ With one last strike, a nearly perfect circle was carved into the concrete wall. A full moon for me to see at night when no one is awake. If I could go to the moon, I would go there alone. Experience life in solitude. Without the jeers of girls and the insults from boys. Without the indifference of adults or the nuisance of a baby’s cry. Perfectly empty, with the Earth and stars dotting the sky. Far away, more beautiful than it is up close. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ But a moon should be glowing a pale white, with sparkling stars drizzled around it like sprinkles on the cupcake I had for my fifth birthday. Perhaps I should gather something shiny and glue it onto the wall, like those fake stones on some of the girls’ shoes outside. Glowing paint… perhaps I can find it somewhere in Akihabara. Or. Somewhere. This place won’t notice I’m gone for a few hours. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Just a few hours. _ _   
_   


* * *

  
An unwanted desire.    
  
Being satisfied with the fallen rhinestones of the clothing of those who try too hard to look better than who they are. Being satisfied with a stolen bag of cheap glow-in-the-dark stars, glued together in a strange, vaguely circular mass. People don’t carry buckets of glowing paint normally, so I couldn’t find it.    
  
Being satisfied with that was fine. Being okay with that for the rest of my life was alright. It’s okay to appreciate such small things, but if the only reason was my own misfortune, wouldn’t that just mean I was happy lying on the lowest rungs of society?   
  
Robin Hood. A master of disguise, stealing from the rich to give to the poor. Ever since I gained the power to go to the Metaverse, the goal was no longer to salvage happiness. It was to steal it away from those who indulge themselves, spoiled by what they were granted at birth. Don a mask that others wear, whisk it away, undermine their authority. Will of rebellion.   
  
To be happy by delusion is an unwanted desire. To wring it out to see it in reality, is not. And yet, looking at that person, was it wrong to think of that? What should I’ve done?   
  
The sky is no longer a reflection, but a cool night sky twinkling with a false gleam that seems just magical enough. Like a parent putting on a Santa costume at the last seconds of Christmas Eve. The moon wasn’t even a moon-- it resembled more like a crumpled ball of copy paper, illuminated by the stars nearby.   
  
Jumping up and up, stepping up step by step, I found myself just a bit closer to the false moon and when I reached towards it, I felt the sphere press into my hand, along with the crevices and craters formed around it. I have no need for this, for I have already thrown away the false world. I threw it to the side and it vanished the moment it hit the ground. There’s no place for the burden of mortality here. There’s no need to rely on the magic of lies.   
  
After all, the truth is--   
  


* * *

  
_ Seventeen. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ I ripped off seventeen rhinestones from a pair of sneakers I came across at the shoe store. With this, I’ll have exactly ninety-nine in total. As I shoved them into my pocket, I grasped for the few yen I had. A one thousand yen bill from some lady’s pocket. A five hundred yen coin from the floor of a laundromat. A fifty yen coin from one of the older kids at the group home. Much too plenty for a kid like me to normally have, though the risk I’ve taken with that lady wouldn’t have been worth it otherwise.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ With this and the stolen glow-in-the-dark stars, I made haste to the nearest train station. It’s a few minutes before breakfast time-- I was out for too long. Before I enter, I should put my findings in a safe place. They’ll definitely take it away as punishment if I return like nothing happened. But there’s nowhere to put it. The path to the home is straight. Maybe bury it outside? No, there’s no place for that.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ The train made a smooth stop as its brakes screeched against the rails. At this point, I’ve gotten better at keeping eyes away from me. Just keep your head down. Avoid eye contact. Don’t act out. Several mistakes I’ve made in the past. At least now that I’m inside of the train, there’s not much to look at aside from the back of a businessman’s coat or the freshly pressed uniform of a student from a prestigious school. There’s not too many like me. A random kid riding the train on a whim. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Hey.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ A foreign voice. A voice much too high-pitched for my taste. Girl with twin pigtails, uneven in size, either because she didn’t try or tried too hard. Face on the generic side aside from the mole under her left eye. Much too cheery. Saccharine. Her brown eyes on me. “You’re here, too? We’re already late ya know.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ She’s from the orphanage, I see. Ran out for some reason. Curious, but irrelevant. I nodded in response.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “What’cha doin’ out here?” Her accent is thick. Was she not raised here? Might be new around here. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Getting stuff.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “What stuff?” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “The stars. The moon, too.” She stared at my face for a bit before opening her mouth again. Formulating a calculated response probably. Can’t take her seriously, in that case. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Did ya conquer them?” She flutters her eyes. I didn’t bother answering that question, but then I felt her hand on my shoulder. She shook me back and forth for a few seconds, causing me to bump into others. I felt glares resting on the back of my neck. I heard whispers. She repeated her question. “Hey, I’m askin’ ya a question.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “I stole them.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Who had ’em?” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Dunno, some adults, I guess.” She removed her hand from me. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Tch, so even in outer space, things are the same, huh?” She gave a heavy sigh. A bit too heavy. Now that she’s closer, I noticed that despite the dirt on her clothes, there was a strong fragrance of perfume mixed in. The cap of a glass bottle peeked out from her pocket. Ah. So that’s what she’s out here for. “But since you have it, that ain’t the case anymore, right? That’s pretty lit.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “It’s about as interesting as a town with a total population of one.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Her eyes lit up. “Ah, so basically you can do whatever ya want.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “I suppose.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Take me there.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “No.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Pfft, alright then, you weirdo.” I’m not weird. Being weird would just be counterproductive, I would say, but I can tell she isn’t having it. She talks as if it wasn’t a bad thing, after all. Strange. “But I’m curious, why didn’t you steal the Earth away?” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Earth is infested with ants. I rather not get them on me.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Hey man, ants are actually pretty cool. It’s kinda fun watching them crawl around, ya know? They ain’t wasps or anythin’ like that.” Small, hardworking ants. Building onto their hill under the guidance of their queen. Hill is kicked down. They build it again. Down. Build. Again. Again. Again. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “I can’t say I share the same sentiments.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Hmm…. Fancy talker, aren’t cha?” So she doesn’t know what 'sentiments' means. “Too bad. Maybe stealing the Earth would steal away all the bullcrap that comes with humanity. Cause a ruckus in this boring world.” She shrugs. “Well, tell me what the moon’s like. Never been on it.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “...It’s made out of stars.” It’s made out of plastic, too, I’d like to say. The sky above is fake, I never want to say. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Stars!?” The train screeched to a halting stop. “Well, I’ll say, that’s a discovery of the century if I had ever heard of one! Get it out there, and get your Nobel Peace Prize or somethin’!” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Too much attention. Rather not bother with that.” The only way to deal with idiots is to keep quiet and nod along. Just like those people shuffling in the background. Just nod along. Don’t pay attention. Don’t look. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Ah, but you do want it, right?” Don’t look at her in the eyes, I tell myself. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “What makes you think that?” Don’t look at her, I repeat to myself. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Don’t cha get it, kid? It’s obvious!” She puts her hands on her hips. Her pose resembles a sidekick who is trying too hard. “If ya get famous, then you can live! Be reborn!” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “...Am I not living?”  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Nope! Not as long we live at that place.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “So we’re dead.” I paused. “You seem quite alright with that.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Well, I got used to the fact that we’re ghosts, man. People only notice us if we do somethin’ troublesome.” ‘They’re troublesome brats, after all.’ That’s what they would say, indeed. “The living ain’t like that, yeah? People notice others frolicking around, an’ all. Plus, how else are we gonna breathe in space? Can’t be alive for that.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “You’re overthinking this.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Nah, I can’t think things for the life of me. I mean, my brain is as empty as a zombie whose face was blown off. Take it from me, I can’t even tell how much longer till our stop.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “We passed it.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Oh.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ She didn’t talk after that. We got off the next stop, take the next train back to the orphanage, and once again, I find myself clutching onto my belongings with my sweat-covered hands. At least this time, I didn’t lose them. Hiding them under the sofa before the others noticed me was a good decision.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ I wanted to learn more about that person’s strange views. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll be proven wrong. That there really is a future for me. That I can be brought back to life. I tried seeking that girl out again, but then I remembered that I never asked for her name. She disappeared, like a ghost who fulfilled her purpose. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ What should I do now? Should I declare to the world that the moon is made out of stars? Or maybe watch ants crawl around a bit more? _ _   
_   


* * *

The truth is nothing spectacular at all. The truth is nothing special and that’s fine. I don’t need to be special anymore. 

Uncovering the truth was once my sole interest, but now that too is gone. Just as I don’t need to preserve my own lies, there’s no reason to expose the truth of others. There’s no reason to set me on a path constructed by myself or by others. I need to stop thinking. Thinking about reality. But this world is just a reflection. Can I do it? Can I shape the world to my liking? If I can’t determine what I want, then perhaps, at the very least to his liking?   
  
I wonder. Would he like this place? Obtaining all of the desires they stole away when they are phantom thieves. Scurrying thieves, running around the nation like rats in a flaming bucket, burying itself through the flesh in an escape for survival, straight through the heart, out to the world, killing the corruption rooted deep within the universal soul of humanity, ripping the gray blob into shreds, grasping hope that they’ll reshape it into their liking. But it doesn’t, it doesn’t and nothing changes because they just come back over and over and over and over again, like cockroaches giving birth to its mindless children, giving the illusion of immortality because they’re all the same each and every time, seeking the same thing, the same desires and produce the same actions without thought and it burns because it why won’t they die? Just die and it’ll be over--   
  
Ah, but he wouldn’t like to think that, right? Give the world a second chance. If he can do the same for someone like me, he could do it for anyone. They’re ridiculous like that. To not embrace peace when it comes to pass. But that’s fine. I hated peace, too. I hate this place, too. Foolish dancing in the midst of nothing without a single thing being accomplished. Worthless, useless, an utter waste of time spent being dead when I could’ve been out there proving--   
  
Proving what? It doesn’t matter what they think! What the world thinks! It doesn’t matter if I’m dead or not! I am free from the shackles of reason! A reason to live!   
  
But even here, I suffer! Even here, memories of the past are taking shape, flooding in, bursting into flames, shaping the world I see! I should’ve lived! I should’ve awakened from that ship, scarring the depths beneath my skin as I dragged my broken body to a cold jail cell, and rotted into green-tinted flesh in the face of the world! So that the world kills itself with me, break itself with me!   
  
But would he want that?! Wouldn’t he wanted you to live?!   
  
But wouldn’t he want me to die?! Would he want that?!   
  
Return it to zero! This world, this afterlife, the Earth, the universe!   
  
And before I knew it, everything was pitch black.   
  


* * *

  
_ “What is it that you desire?” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ That man, who is supposedly my father, is standing before me. The full moon glows behind him, along with the stars twinkling around his shadowy figure. The stuff of dreams, one may say. Just beyond him, I’ll reach it there. I’ll escape this prison. Attain immortality. Erase the world from my cognition. The desire to be reborn. My hope.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “After all, you’re belief in me can’t be the only reason you came to me, correct? What is your motive?” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ My motive. For you to remember me. Love, hate, whatever. I want you to cry. I’ll make you cry. Grind your bones into dust. Cook your flesh into the oven. Wave it at a stake for all to see. Meet me in hell. Beg for me to stay.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Do you remember me?” I will ask. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ You will.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “What am I?” I will ask. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ I’ll make it so that you can’t say. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “If you can accept my request regarding that woman, then surely you know how to accept your prize.” A hawk’s gaze. A politician’s posture. In this moonlit night, he watches…. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “… Just one thing.” His eyes locked onto his prey. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Say it.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “I want to go to high school.”  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ His eyes widened for a moment before curling a bit to fit into his kind mask. “Then it shall be arranged.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ The story is as follows. The prey becomes the hunter, and the hunter becomes the prey. That is what I, the author, had written in the script. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ But it was all just fiction, wasn’t it? _ _   
_   


* * *

  
Light.   
  
This room that I’m in. Aged wood, shrank a bit to see small gaps between the boards. A sharp scent. I sat up and at my right, there was a window. It seems to be dark out, pitch black. To my left, I heard footsteps coming from the stairs. It smells like coffee.   
  
This room is….   
  
“You’re awake.” The boy emerged from the dark corners of the room. Shaggy black hair. Relaxed gait. Shoulders are a little tense. Akira Kurusu.   
  
“So you can tell. How impressive.”   
  
“Ha, yeah. I’m pretty great, yeah? I learned from the best.” From the best. Right. His string of confidants to pick and choose. “Anyways, glad you’re awake now. You were out for a good while.”   
  
“Out?”   
  
“Yeah. As you can guess, you’re alive. You sacrificed yourself because you wanted us to carry on your wish when you couldn’t, but here’s the thing.” Akira moved closer and sat on the edge the bed. “You can, and you probably will.”   
  
“Oh.”   
  
Akira’s eyes briefly widened. “Oh?”    
  
“Is there a problem?”   
  
“Well, uh.” He scratches his head. “I wasn’t exactly expecting you go into shock or anything, but somehow it seems like you expected this to happen.”   
  
“I didn’t. If I did, I wouldn’t have made such a big deal about it back at the Palace.”   
  
“So you are surprised?”   
  
“Yeah.” I guess. “I suspected I was in the afterlife until you came along.”   
  
“You thought Leblanc was the afterlife?”   
  
“I was ready to accept anything as the afterlife. It’s not like I’ve been there before.”   
  
“Except me.”   
  
“...except you.” Some things can’t be replicated after all. Somehow, I have a feeling that a Cognitive Akira would be noticeably different than the real thing. After all, I don’t really understand him. I don’t really understand what I think of him.   
  
Akira gave a small smirk as if he was trying to hide it, despite knowing the futility. “Flattering.”   
  
A change of topic is needed. “Have you stolen Shido’s heart?”    
  
“Yeah, we secured the route, sent the card, fought his shadow, and nabbed it. We’re just biding our time now.” I should be happy with the news. Even if it wasn’t for my own sake, I should at least be relieved that Shido will be put to justice.    
  
Even so.   
  
“What is it?”   
  
“It’s nothing.”   
  
“No, you look like you want to say something, but your ego is telling you not to.”   
  
“How can I look like that? And isn’t my ego and myself synonymous?”   
  
“Not in my dictionary. And let just say it’s a hunch.”   
  
It’s strange. Why didn’t I outright deny his claim? “I…” It took a while before I spoke again. What was it that I want to say again? For some reason, it was only then when I processed how cold it was. Of course, it was winter and the heater Akira had in the corner of his room isn’t exactly the most efficient to make sure heat spreads across the room equally. Winters were like that at the orphanage, though the futons weren’t as comfy as this bed.    
  
I felt Akira’s hand rest on mine. His hand wasn’t warm, probably because he was outside not too long ago. It’s even shaking a bit, though I’m not sure if it was out of uncertainty or because of the weather. He didn’t say anything, but his mouth straightened into a tight line, and just a bit, he tightened his grip. Take your time, is what he seems to be saying.   
  
Take your time, huh.   
  
It’s been awhile since I had time to spare.   
  
“Hey, Akira…”   
  
“...Yes?”   
  
“Umm…” C'mon, I can’t turn back now. But I do I want to? Ah, it’s too late to slip back into the past anymore. I unknowingly tightened my hand into a fist. “...Did you know that the moon was made out of stars?”   
  
Akira took a moment to soak in the question before saying anything. I’m dumb. What I said was dumb. “...No. I didn’t.” Does he believe it? No. No, he hadn’t. “Tell me more about it, though. I want to hear the details of the Detective Prince’s deduction. Anyone would.”   
  
“I’m not…” What? A detective? I never was. Not a prince either. I’m… “...that anymore.”   
  
“Then just tell me as Goro Akechi. No titles involved. Likewise, don’t think of me as a Phantom Thief either.” Easier said than done. Who is Goro Akechi? That brat who screamed his bleeding heart out in the engine room? He doesn’t want to hear that again, I think.   
  
“Hmm… well.” God, I can’t keep my act together. Is it because I still feel sore? Because Akira keeps staring with those eyes? I don’t know. I don’t know, and I shouldn’t care about what’s he’s thinking. I need to stop thinking, just spill it out, out, out-- “...I met a strange person on the train back when I still lived in the orphanage. Almost as strange as you.” Akira stifled a chuckle. “Out of a whim, I told her a bunch of half-truths when she forced me into a conversation,  but she took all of my comments seriously, even though a normal person wouldn’t.”

  
Akira’s face didn’t change. Is this what he wanted to hear? “What does that have to do with the moon?”   
  
“...It’s complicated. Let’s just say that what I just told you was one of the things I told her. She might’ve just been an idiot, but…” I felt my throat constrict. Why am I doing this again? Maybe it’s just easier to tell the truth when everything ended for me. I don’t know. “After some thought, perhaps there was some truth. Outside of the way I thought of it at the time, I mean.” Akira nodded, telling me to continue.   
  
“When people see a shooting star, they pour their wishes into the words they say, probably out of the assumption that their words have power, if not just plain desperation.” Ridiculous. If only that were true. “But their hopes, whether they be selfish or otherwise, probably all seem the same from up there. You know, to those lazy gods or celestials or whatever. It’s always spurred by someone’s self-interest. For someone’s benefit. Because the truth they want is a truth that is comprised of the happiness of one’s self. It doesn’t matter if it’s one star or another, so why should it matter if they are looking down upon us from the moon?”   
  
Akira pursed his lips in thought. “Do you believe in shooting stars?”   
  
“Not really. Even as a child, I thought it was a sack full of lies.” But I wanted to. “...I thought that was enough.”   
  
“I get that. You don’t really believe it, but you do it anyways. People can do whatever when there is no price to pay.”   
  
“Mmm.” And that is why free things are as worthless as they are. “But here in Tokyo, you can’t see the stars due to light pollution. Sometimes, I could see the moon. Instead of shooting stars, I’ll make wishes to the moon because I thought, if it’s up there, someone or something just might make it come true out of whim, even though I’m doing it all wrong.” The whims of who? Perhaps fate.   
  
“Even though they probably don’t exist.”   
  
“Yeah. I guess.” Pause. “...If I were to have a Palace, the moon would be my Treasure.” Ridiculous. A ridiculous fantasy. A phantom thief sitting on the edge of my window. And with a single touch, change the world. Away with my reason to live. Freedom. “It held all of the promises I made to myself, including my plan to take down Shido. And… I really believed that the gods had blessed me. You don’t exactly come across the ability to traverse the Metaverse every day.”   
  
“I’ll say, and if that’s true, then I’m glad we didn’t have to steal your heart. I don’t think that even Mona could carry a moon as a van, haha.” Akira’s sad attempt at humor just made the atmosphere even sadder. I suppose even with a Palace, I can’t be fixed.   
  
I can’t be fixed.    
  
But I’m alive anyway?   
  
“...But you already had.”   
  
“Hmm?”   
  
“You stole my heart. You stole the moon away from me.” If you weren’t there, I wouldn’t be here. If I had never met you…. I wouldn’t-- I couldn’t…!

Things would be easier if Akira Kurusu just hadn’t existed.

“I don’t know about that. I think you changed fine on your own.”   
  
“How would you know that? You don’t think I would’ve stopped myself going after Shido halfway, do you?”   
  
“Well, not in that sense, yeah. But....” Akira’s gaze turned itself towards my own. “I did nothing to change your heart by force. Nothing like Kamoshida. Nothing like Madarame. Nothing like Shido. The decisions you made didn’t require us to remove part of your identity. Part of your ego. Part of your suffering. You closed that shutter with the same mind that told you that you needed to get revenge, the same one you had in the beginning. I’m sure you know that you would’ve had a higher chance of being saved if you hadn’t.”   
  
“What if it was out of pride? Or maybe I wanted to die.” Lies. I spilled lies all the time and only now does it sound uncomfortable. Maybe. Maybe Goro Akechi really had died. Maybe I’m--   
  
“First off, you don’t want to die. I know that for sure.” Even though I fantasized about being dead in dreamland. Right. Right. “And I don’t think it was out of something dumb as maintaining your pride two seconds into a life-threatening situation. I don’t have any evidence on me like a detective would, but…” Akira inched a bit more onto the bed. “I want to believe in the you I have come to know. You being that man’s assassin doesn’t contradict what I know about you. What I knew for certain anyway.”   
  
“What do you mean?” A paragon of morality to a revenge-seeking assassin… anyone could’ve seen that those two things are complete opposites.   
  
“That every time you come to Leblanc, you order the same blend Sojiro recommended when you first came. That every time you drank that coffee, you make this cute smile that you try to hide before complimenting someone. That you deliberately avoid the curry menu because you can’t handle spice.”   
  
“That’s just…” ...completely arbitrary. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t find the energy to complete my sentence quickly enough.   
  
“That even now, you trying to find happiness. That what you said behind that shutter was the absolute truth for that reason.” My legs froze up. “Well, it wasn’t the kind of happiness that I thought. To be honest, I was under the impression that you were suffering from some kind of disillusionment. Like fame isn’t as it’s cracked up to be.” I suppose you would know that after the scheme Shido set up involving the fake Medjed.   
  
“You wouldn’t be entirely wrong.” What am I saying now? Was I actually serious when I told him that I felt like I could tell him everything? I don’t know. I don’t remember. “When Shido first proposed that I will become the Detective Prince, no matter the method, I was… a bit excited.” I moved my hand to squeeze Akira’s. “I thought that… I will be able to live.” Make living a little more bearable.   
  
“Hmm. I guess from far away, celebrities are pretty admirable. I mean, aside from the ones whose fame is just gossip. Ryuji was pretty excited about that stuff, you know.”   
  
I hummed in agreement. “Though to tell you the truth, the only reason why I thought that was because a certain someone back in the orphanage told me something interesting. The same person that I mentioned earlier, in fact.”   
  
“What is it?”   
  
“That I and everyone else are ghosts. That we weren’t alive because we were only acknowledged as a presence when we do something morally wrong, similar to the way ghosts are.” Feared. Away from the living. Untouchable. Invisible.   
  
“Is that why you thought that by being famous, you’ll escape?”   
  
I nodded. “Ironic, isn’t it? I was excited, and yet, I didn’t feel like I got anything at the end. I thought it was just because the spotlight wasn’t for me or because I hated how fake and fickle society is. Well, the latter is true, but it wasn’t just that.” I exhaled. Ah, I wasn’t aware that I was holding my breath for so long. “I… didn’t break away from being a ghost. I didn’t become famous by my own effort. I became one as a puppet. Acknowledged, but…”   
  
“It wasn’t you. Their praise, genuine or not, didn’t mean anything to you.”   
  
“Mmm.”   
  
“So I was right after all. Huh.”   
  
“A bit late on your part. I was already accustomed by the time I met you.”   
  
“I guess so.” Akira gave a sad smile. “Though if that’s the case, I suppose it makes sense that you don’t have a Palace.”   
  
“What do you mean?”   
  
“All the Palaces we been through are created from some kind of desire. Whether it be out of the desire for money, sex, or even death, the rulers pursued it out of some kind of hope. Like the one you make to a shooting star like you said.”   
  
“You aren’t saying that I don’t have a desire, are you?”   
  
“Nah, that’s not it. But it isn’t distorted, nor is it solid.” He paused, out of the expectation that I was going to interject, but when I didn’t, he went ahead and asked a question.   
  
“When you saw the moon, what did you wish for?”   
  
“...First, I just wanted food. Then, I wanted to go to high school. University. Live a stable life. When that proved impossible, I settled on revenge.”   
  
“You weren’t thinking about fame?”   
  
“I suppose I did.”   
  
“I see. Here’s what I think.” Akira crossed his legs. “They say that human beings have unlimited desires. But there’s always a limit, so people have to make choices, and those choices cause them to value one thing over the other. A Treasure represents what they wanted the most, and their Palace caters towards that.”   
  
He leaned closer towards me. “But you. What you wanted wasn’t defined by a singular, twisted desire. It wasn’t fame. It wasn’t money. Not even revenge in itself. You just wanted happiness, no matter what form it was. And the thing is, everyone wants that. The foundation of desire stems from humanity’s pursuit of happiness.”   
  
“And…?”   
  
“The moon is made out of stars, right? You thought that if you can’t catch a shooting star like so few privileged people have, you settled with the moon. Containing so many wishes, you just prayed that you got one, no matter what it was. It’s all the same. It’s all for one’s self-interest.”   
  
“So I don’t have a Palace because I wasn’t picky?”   
  
“Something like that.” God. “Like I said, it’s not distorted nor is it solid. You didn’t really know what you wanted, and when all roads seemed to be blocked off, you went to him, right?”   
  
“I… suppose.” I never wanted revenge? Was it all just a delusion created by my own desperation? Because dying like a helpless rat was the last thing I wanted to do….   
  
I… didn’t want to die.   
  
I didn’t want to rest in peace with her.   
  
Akira’s face twisted in amusement. Did I make a strange face? “You probably weren’t even sure if your revenge on Shido was what you wanted at the start, but with nothing else, it became your reason for living. Plus--” Akira leaned forwards. His face… is way too close. “--Shido was kind of a douche anyways, so it’s no surprise that you’d think that he deserves it.”   
  
“Then what about my Persona? If I didn’t really want revenge, what is my Persona?” My will of rebellion. Loki. Robin. What did they mean again? I… don’t think I even thought of that. Maybe briefly, but what difference would it make?   
  
“I guess it’s because you knew that Shido was the enemy, at the very least. See, from what I can tell from my teammates, Persona awakenings tend to happen when someone is given a reason to fight against those who indulge in their wants. A really good reason. Enough so that you got so mad that you barely notice the pain of ripping off that mask, right?”   
  
“Yeah. It wasn’t until I woke up the next morning when I noticed my face got all sore.”   
  
“...pfft. Alright, but do you agree? Even if you didn’t know what you wanted, you knew what you didn’t.”   
  
“...” That’s really what he’s saying, right? I never… equated revenge with happiness? I did it to fight? No, what I didn’t wasn’t selfless. I killed people because I didn’t want to let go of him. To not let go of her. To feel satisfied with the fact that living up until now, through this hell, though the hearts and flesh of others so I can stand above them all of them in the name of some kind of justice! All these adults who have absolute control and look back at the starving children at the bottom of the well, telling themselves, it’s all fine. This is fine. Dying rats are rats. Miserable, ghostly rats. I never asked to be there. I never wanted to be there! Because I was meant to be human! A living human!   
  
It was all… to stop being miserable. That’s… desire? Hope?   
  
...   
  
“...You’re overthinking it.”   
  
“Boo.” Akira made a pouty face, but I didn’t miss the way the tip of his eyes curves just slightly enough to suggest a smiling expression. I’m making a strange face, aren’t I?   
  
“Hey, Akira.”   
  
“Yeah?”   
  
“Do you think I’ll get a Nobel Peace Prize? For discovering that the moon is made out of stars.”   
  
“...Probably not.” Of course. “But.” Akira stood up.   
  
“I think you’ll get something better than that.” Akira made a few steps towards the stairs. “Just let me get one thing.” He left, leaving behind the warmth of the heater. I didn’t notice how cold it got without his presence.   
  
And for what seemed like hours, he came back, holding a plastic bag.   
  
“Here you go.”    
  
“Ah… this is.....” Glow-in-the-dark stars. They’re new. Where did he get them?   
  
“Help me put these up, ‘kay?”   
  
It took forever. It felt that way at least. He wasn’t talking. I didn’t have a reason to. That was fine. At the very least, being complicit with this won’t result in the deaths of hundreds of people, morally questionable or not.    
  
(And maybe, just maybe, things can be just a little more normal. A little less thought into every move I make, every breath I breathe.)   
  
With the stars set up, aligned in their proper positions, (Positions? What proper positions? We didn’t care.) Akira turned off the lights and dragged his thin fleece blanket onto the floor. He sat down, back against the bed, loosely wrapped in his blanket.   
  
“Have a seat.”   
  
“...Then leave some space.”

“Hmm?” Before he could form a complete thought, I pulled on the edges of the blanket, forcing the blanket to barely cover our bodies. I felt his leg touching my knees.

“Just… stay like this.” Thankfully, he didn’t open his mouth. Er, he did, but he didn’t say anything. The artificial stars look nothing like the real thing. They aren’t twinkling at some unknown distance like rhinestones. It’s shines an alien green. A beautiful neon.

Who cares if there isn’t a moon or if there aren’t any stars? It’s right here. It’s all right here and after these two years of wasted deaths and emotional tension-- I don’t want to think too much now. Just. Relax.

Take your time, he said. Take my time, I will.

“Speechless, huh? The moon is made out of stars, but with this, you don’t need to chase after it.”   
  
You’re right. You’re absolutely right. Not when you have heaven here, on earth. Who needs death? I had enough of that.

Saying nothing, I leaned in just a little closer to him.   


**Author's Note:**

> allo allo
> 
> I should've been working on the next chapter of thaumaturgy but this idea wouldn't go away. OTL Hopefully, I'll get that up before the new year.
> 
> assuming i don't go ahead and make a one-shot involving mishima and hifumi from all this talk of moon and stars =u=;;


End file.
